Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, March 24, 1900, Page 6

Oe el eet eth tte BY JEAN QD, 5c oe 000 <a 9 ee CHAPTER I. A “Commencement.” It was commencement day at Madam! hour of girlish triumph with promises | Fleury’s fashionable academy. Her ion was filled with the elite | Doting mammas were | there, ng their matronly feath-' ers with pride and pleasure; solid papas, whose beaming countenances were shadowed with no premonitory | suggestions of the madam’s semi-an- | ympathetic aunts, benevo- and masculine cousins in- nual bills; lent uncles aumerable. m’s establishment was | patronized ex sively by the creme de | la creme; the madam’s young ladies! r remarkable everywhere for their h manners and elegant deport- the madam’s diploma, embossed | in satin and mounted on sandal-wood, was, as she proudly boasted, a pass- ; port to the best society everywhere. There were fifty figures, faultlessly | arrayed in imported “commencement” | dresses, seated on the ‘peted stage, that had been temporarily erected for | the proper display of these human ex- } otics. With the sa their elegant coiffures all in » fashionable style, their elab- or: cut in the same pattern, their elaborate music, elaborate essays and elaborate manners, the effect | might have been satisfactory, but was | slightly monotonous. So, at t, thought Herbert Clive, | as, ensc ed in a remote corner of the j room, he submitted, with polite resig- | nation, to a three-hours’ “classical en- | tertainment.” “If they don’t all look like the rows ! of paj Fan used to cut when she. we » girl, there might be some fun in picking out the pretty | ones; but—” { Mr. Clive’s ¢ ism was brought to | an abrupt termination, for at that mo- ment a young girl stepped out from the ranks which seemed a direct con- tradiction of his assertion. Her simple white dress was devoid of all ornament; the hair, of a pale, golden hué, was neither puffed nor coiled, but rippled back from a low, | broad brow, and fell in wavy clouds to ti ter slender waist; her face, a pure Grecian contour, was of a trar ent whitene: that seemed no pain, nor pride, nor pleasure could tinge with life. With careless but unconscious grace, | she took her seat at the harp, that! stood alone on a crimson dais, and at ! the first touch of her delicate hand upon the strings, every whisper in the | room was hushed; all eyes were | turned toward the fairy-like creature, who could sweep the golden chords in- to such magic harmony—who could wake the soul that sleeps within the poet’s soul. A wild, sw ot prelude, very grateful to ears we of crashing .overtures and shrill choruses, floated through | the room for a moment, and died into a low accompaniment, and then the musician’s voice arose in a song whose | weird melody haunted Herbert Clive | until his dying day. “Y’ll bind thee with a charm, my love, Vll seal thee with a spell, That thou shalt love me more than} all— love me more than well For all my dower is magic power— A power I dare not tell!” The pathos of the last two lines seemed to Herbert Clive indescribable. ; They were like the moan of some be- ing cursed with unearthly powers that ed it from human kind; they! at once a ery of triumph and a “For all my dower is magic power— A power I dare not tell!” The song died into silence. A mur- applause, admiration, and per- of relief, ran through the audi- but the singer was not encor ence; i The emotions excited by her song were not of the order agreeable to fashion- able society. There was a heartbreak in the tones, of which society scarcely approved. “Who is she?” puffed a stately dow- ager, near Herbert, as the young mu- sician arose from the harp, and re- turned to her place among her compan- fons. “I don’t know,” was her friend’s re- ply. “A pretty little creature, but with- out any style. Ah, let me see,” and, with a second thought, the lady anced at her perfumed programme. ‘Ballad —original— by Miss Sybil Wraye. That must be her name, then —Sybil W Se “Sybil W e!” That name brought back some half-forgotton associations to Herbert Clive. Fan had written something home about the girl. What was it? His sis- ter’s school-girl letters had in general very little interest for him. He had glanced over them carelessly, smniling, perhaps, at some outburst of girlish enthusiasm, and then (ungallant fel- fow) twisted them into lights for his cigars. What was it Fan had written about this Sybil Wraye? It was a strange name, yet it seemed appropriate to her. And all through the remaining exer- cises Herbert Clive’s eyes were drawn, as if by fascination, to that alabaster profile, that, shaded by its veil of gold- en hair, seemed to stand forth like some exquisite carving from the groups of pretty, aristocratic but meaningless faces around it. Sybil Wraye, who was she? . She seemed to have neither, father, mother nor friend among this gay au- dience, when the graduates stood up to receive their diplomas. She alone was without a floral offering from lov- ‘ng hands. Happier girls smiled their thanks for costly baskets and rare bou- quets. HER HEART'S SECRET; Or, UNDER A SPELL. ap 6 <a 9 <a> 0 a 9 a 0 em 000 ee 8 ce 0 <0 8 ee i that seeme | dress off. |theap at his side. | 6 ee} aE WARNER. Pale, and proud, and silent, she took the hard-earned tribute of her success with a quiet bow, and turned away without blossom or bud to sweeten this sweeter still. Who was this Sybil Wraye? Herbert glanced at the bouquet he held in his hands. He had purchased it for his er, but Fannie was laden down | with flowers now. So, without waiting for a sober sec- | ond thought, the young man scrib! on a card the name that had so awak- | ened his interest, and dispatched the bouquet, by a polite usher, to Miss Sybil Wraye. He saw the swift look of surprise that passed over the girl’s pale count- | enance as the flowers were handed to | her; he noted the faint smiie dawn } upon her lips, and then change into a quiver of pain; he caught ene glance at the wondrous gray eyes hidden be- neath those silken lashes, and a} strange, pitiful tenderness stole into his heart. Poor child — friendless, sorrowful child! How young, how lovely, how | lonely she was! What charm was it} ee | a rapture of delight. to set her apart from all the others? What fa tion drew | his gaze to her fair, delicate face? He had seen thousands of women far | more beautiful, thousands more at- | tractive; yet this pale, slender girl had | awakened emotions in his heart he | had never felt before. “Good gracious, brother!” and Fan- nie’s merry voice/aroused him from his | dream, re you napping in this dark | corner? I have been looking ever; where for you. Do carry some o these flowers, and my fan, and my di- | ploma. Oh, dear, dear! I am so excit- } ed and nervous, and delighted, that I scarcely know what I am about. To think that my stupid school days are) over at last. There! good gracious, some horrid man has nearly torn my Bertie, did papa send mej the bracelet he promised me, and do you think the dear old darling will give me a summer at the springs?” “Take a long breath, Fan—do,” laughed her brother. “I can’t answer | forty questions at a time. Why, ten} minutes ago you were a very model of | elegant composure. I was gazing at you in silent and wondering admira- | tion.’ ‘Don’t be aggravating, brother, please,” pouted the pretty graduate. “You were not looking at me at all, or I need not have searched the room over half a dozen times to find you. There were plenty more gallant cava- liers ready to escort me. but I had an especial reason for finding you; and, dear me! that reminds me—where is she?’ cried Fan, looking around her with sudden self-reproach. “I declare, I have been in such a flutter that I lost sight of the darling girl entirely. It’s just like her to go off in some dark cor- ner by herself; she is so sensitive. Take care of all these things, brother,” and the heedless girl dropped books, diploma, fan and flowers in a careless “I must go find Sybil.” And, without waiting for another | ord, Fannie Clive, whose charming | impulsiveness had been a very thorn in Madam Fleury’s flesh, darted off | through the gay crowd to search for her forgotten friend. The audience was dispersing now, and so many admiring friends stopped the pretty graduate with compliments and congratulations that it was some time before she could follow the: ob- ject of her search. Sybil’s harp was covered, and she was gone; the stage was vacant, and the busy groups, laughing and chat- ting in the spa us salon; there was | no sign of the golden-haired songstress, whose bewitching melody had a few | moments ago held the gay audience | spell-bound. | A long, covered balcony led from the | drawing room to a miniature conserva- | where the madam gave elegant | in botany, and here it was that | » at last found her friend. She was standing beneath the shad- ow of some dark-leaved Egyptian | plant (whose classification had defied | all the researches of feminine science), and the fair, flower-like head was bent over a bouquet of snowy blossoms she held in her hand. “Sybil—dear Sybil!’ cried Fanny, | springing forward to her side, “what are you doing here, you naughty girl, | all alone? Why did you run away | from me? Herbert is here, and—” Something in the death-white face up- tureed ta hers, made the impulsive girl pause a moment, and ‘then ask, quickly: “Are you ill, darling? Are | you suffering? What is the matter, | Sybil?” “Nothing,” was the slow reply— “nothing, I am very well, Fannie. You should not have sought one like me, dear, in the hour of glad triumph. | Yet it is like you—like you, and only you.” “It was like me to rush off in my headlong way and leave you to mope here by yourself!” said Fannie, re- morsefully. “Come, darling; Herbert has the carriage waiting. I wrote them all that I was going to bring the sweetest, dearest girl in the world home with me. Let us go change our dresses, so that we can take the even- ing train, for I know that dear fellow is fuming himself into a fever at our delay, even now.” A quick change passed over Sybi¥s face—a spasm, whether of pain, terror or fear, it was impossible to tell. “No, no! don’t ask me, Fannie, my dearest, kindest old friend—don’t take me with you to your home. It is bet- ter for you, for me, for us all. to part now—now. I cannot go with you. I— I must not!” “Must not! Cannot!” echoed Fannie, in blank dismay. “After promising me for six months—after all my plans and projects are settled—after I had set my whole heart on this visit? Oh, i Sybil, Sybil! I did not think you could treat me so unkindly—I did not think you could be so fickle, so false!” ‘The sudden blow was too much for warm-hearted Fan’s already excited nerves, and she dropped on the bench behind ‘her and gave way to a very tempest of childish tears. “Don’t dear—don’t!’ said a low, con- strained voice in her ear, and Sybil's icy hand was laid upon her brow. “Don’t cry this way, Fan, or—or you will make me yield, despite myself.” “T’ll never forgive you Sybil Wraye!” sobbed the spoiled pet of fortune ve- hemently, “never, never, never! You promised me .nd you deceived me— you that I have loved better than any ene in the world—you promised me and you deceived me!” “No, no, no!’ the answer eame, as if wrung in desperation from the white lips; “you shall neyer say that of me, Fannie, you, who have been my only friend. I will keep my promise—I will go home with you; Remember that you forced me, by tears and reproaches that I could. not withstand.” “I knew you would, you delightful | girl!” exclaimed Fannie, kissing her in “There is Her- bert now, looking for us. Brother,” and twining her arm about her friend’s waist, Fan smiled at the tall gentle- man whom Madam Fleury had just le& to the conservatory door, “this is the dearest and best of friends, who is coming to spend the summer with us. Mr. Clive—Miss Sybil Wraye.” CHAPTER I. A Double Warning. Madame Fleury had evidently some- thing upon her mind, disturbing its usual elegant composure. Her bright black eyes followed the two young girls as they left the room to make the necessary changes in their toilet, and then, with a little prepara- but, oh, Fannie, | Fannie! it is not of my own free will. | tory cough, she motioned Mr. Clive to | one of the seats under the orange trees. “There is something I intended to mention to your father, Mr. Clive, if he had honored us with his presence to-day. But—ahem!—that being im- possible, I feel that I owe it to myself, and—ahem!—the reputation my acade- my has al ys held in the highest and nese Setect circles o1 society, to men- tion to you, as your father’s fitting rep- resentative.” Herbert bowed. The madam’s pre- face was somewhat appalling. Had Fan been found guilty in problems of | propriety? Had she lost her heart or | her diamonds? or run up too large a bill in ribbons and sugar-plums? ‘Fhe young man’s ideas of feminine difficult- ies were rather vague. “Your sister,” continued the madam, gradually recovering her usual suavity of manner, “is, as I need not inform you, Mr. Clive, one of the loveliest, frankest and most impulsive of girls. Buth the very candor and simplicity which we all find so bewitching in the young, makes it incumbent upon friends and guardians, whose judg- ment has been ripened by knowledge of the world—renders it incumbent on them, I repeat, to be doubly vigilant and prudent in all that concerns— ahem!—the welfare of those committed to our charge. Do you follow me?” Herbert, with rather a perplexed expression of countenance, implied that he did. “This being the case,” continued the preceptress, with a gracious smile, “and knowing, well, as I do, the high position which your sister will right- fully assume in society, I have ob- served with no little anxiety the choice she has made of friends; and I assure you, Mr .Clive, that the intimacy she has formed with Miss Wraye has been entirely without my approbation. I have remonstrated with Miss Clive more than once. I have pointed out to her young ladies of her own standing in society, with whom she could prop- erly and naturally form ties of friend- ship; I seriously objected to this visit to your home; but your sister has been deaf alike to my advice and remon- strances. I found that I was entirely powerless to control fhe singular in- fatuation for this, chosen friend.” Herbert’s brow had darkened strange- ly during this lengthy address. “May I ask,” he inquired, briefly, ‘on what you ground your objections to this young lady’s intimacy with my sis- ter? Do you know of anything preju- dicial to her as a companion to those | of her own sex and age?” “She would not be among my pupils, sir, if I did,” was the lofty reply. “No; my objections are grounded on my knowledge of society, and what it de- mands. Miss Wraye has no position, no friends, no influence to elevate her to an equality with your sister. She was placed here by a lawyer, who acts as her guardian, pays her bills prompt- ly, and denies her nothing that a young lady in good society requires; but be- yond this I know nothing of her.” She been here now for more than a year, during which time she has _re- ceived no letters, seen no friends, and maintained the singular, ungirlish re- serve of manner, which I consider both unnatural and ungracious in one so young, though, in justice to her, I must add that her remarkable talents and ladylike deportment have been beyond question of criticism.’ Mr. Clive’s brow brightened, and he drew a breath of relief. It would have been rather hard for him to have heard anything against Fan’s cherished friend. That cameo-like countenance was surely above all shadow of re- proach. “I understand the responsibility of your position, madam,” he answered, politely; “but I am too much of a democrat to give your objections the weight they may, perhaps, deserve. Miss Wraye seems to be a very charm- ing young lady, and annie is undoubt- edly attached to her. It would be'a pity, I think, to let a cold, worldly wis- dom sever a tie that seems to me the natural and spontaneous outspringing of heart to heart. There is something so very charming in a first friendship —it has all the freshness and fragrance of spring.” Herbert would have launched into the metaphorical, had not the cold, ir- responsive light of the madam’s black eyes suddenly brought him back to a matter of fact. “As you please, Mr. Clive,” she an- swered, with her set, society smile. “I have only done my duty in explain- ing to you the position the young lady holds in my academy; and, having done so, I shall consider myself re- lieved of all further responsibility.’ “What an old grimalkin she is!” was Herbert’s mental comment, as the two young girls entered the room. And Sybil, in her dainty brown tray- eling dress, with her pale-golden hair caught up in a Grecian knot under a gracefal straw fat, seemed lovely and ladylike enough to have stepped from a throne. , His generous heart swelled indignant- ly as he noticed the contrast in the madam’s farewells—how gushingly- gracious was her embrace of dear Fan- nie, how cold and constrained her good-bye to Miss Wraye; and he vowed inwardly that all he could do should be done to make this beautiful girl, for awhile, at least, forget the shadow that seemed to rest so unnaturally on her opening life. He would brighten her path with sunsbine, though it only gleamed a day. It was not a very difficult task for Herbert Clive to b> agreeable. Gifted with a natural charm of manner and graceful address, a warm heart and a lively fancy, he could net fail to please, even without making any particular exertion to do so. But the madam’s cold, and, it seemed to him, cruel, warning, had served as a spur to his ardent, generous nature. He felt as if he could not do enough to show this friendless, lonely girl she was a welcome and honored visitor to his home. It was a twelve-hours’ journey to Clive Towers, and as the sun set in purple glory behind the western hills, the travelers began the pleasantest portion of their trip—their sail up the broad river, on whose sloping banks was situated Herbert’s princely home. Fannie had scarcely set foot on the steamer ere she was met by a party of merry young friends; and after the first introductions and supper were over, a moonlight dance was impro- vised on the spacious decks, and the sounds of gay music and happy laugh- ter woke the echoes of the solemn hills beneath whose shadows the noble ves- sel passed. Herbert did his devoir manfully, though somewhat wearily, to several blooming partners, ere he contrived te slip away from the mirtiful scene. He missed one fairy-hke form from the light-hearted group—one sweet, low voice from the silvery chorus—and al- ready he felt a void and silence be- eause Sybil was not there. He found her all alone, standing at the stern of the steamer, looking into the waters that were here tossed into turbulent waves and showers of pearly spray by the mighty wheels. As he reached her side, Herbert no- ticed her start nervously and throw something which she held in her hand into the seething waters; and, with a feeling akin to pain, he recognized the flowers he had given her that evening floating for a moment, worthless waifs, upon the moonlit waves. He had fancied she valued them a lit- tle—a very little. She had held them in her hand all the evening, had touched them tenderly, and once or twice in- haled their perfume, as though it brought some sweet, sad memory. And now she had flung them away like withered weeds. “Why have you stolen off from us all, Miss Sybil?’ he asked, with as- sumed lightness. “I did not know young ladies were so fond of indulging in maiden meditation, fancy free.” “T am used to being alone,” she an- swered, simply, “and these tossing wa- ters have a charm for me. I like to hear their passionate murmur as the st@imer passes through their heart. By-and-by they will be all still again— all still. We can only see the life and the spirit here.” “You would like the ocean better,” he answered. “There you see, you feel, the life everywhere. There the swelling, seething, restless waves are never still, and the proudest vessels are their sports and playthings, just as our frail human skiffs are tossed about on the sea of life.” “Is there not always a Fate at the helm?” she asked, dreamily—‘a stern, impassive Fate, that steers our little barques where and when she will? I have found it so already.” “I prefer to think I hold my own helm,” answered Herbert, cheerfully, “and, so far, have found it very fair sailing. And the Fate to whom I re- sign my post must come in a very charming guise, Miss Sybil. I have never seen her except in dreams un- til’’— he paused, and then added, reck- lessly, “until to-day. Why did you throw away my flowers?” he contin- ued, eagerly. “Did you not know I breathed a spell upon them?’ “I have no right to accept gifts from you,” she answered, coldly. “We are strangers, Mr. Clive.” “Not so,” he answered. “‘Fannie’s friendship is a link between us. You must call Fannie's brother friend, Miss Sybil.” “J haye no friends,” she answered, with a stifled sigh. “I can make none. Forgive me, Mr. Clive, if—if I seem cold and ungracious; but if I am here as your sister’s guest, it fs against my own will, against my own judgment, against my own sense of justice and right. I am here in a false position that I scorn to hold under a false—” She paused suddenly, as if some pas- sionate impulse had made her say too much. But, with Madam Fleury’s_ cold, worldly warning still echoing in his ears, Herbert thought he understood the girl’s proud, indignant protest. She would not be patronized, pitied, protected, even as his sister’s guest. She would hold herself aloof from his world and from him. It would need sunshine, indeed to thaw this icy wall of maidenly reserve; and, with a man’s pertinacity, Herbert vowed he would do it. “You have thrown away my flowers and cast aside my friendship,” he said, in a tone of half-playful reproach; “and yet I don’t despair, Miss Sybil. Some intuition fells me we will be warm friends yet. I feel already the magic power of which you sung this evening drawing me to your side.” ~ She lifted her face to his for one in- stant, and he was startled at its look of white dismay. There was no girl ish affection in her strange answer: “Heaven forbid! If I believed that any dark Fate was drawing our paths together, I would cast myself this mo- ment into the waters swelling beneath our feet, and end all!” (fo be Continued.) Save the pennies. Doesn’t the per- fume maker prove that “every scent counts?” é PECULIARTIES OF GENIUS. + Stories of Mme. Sembrich, Sig. Ta- magno and Sig. Foil | One prima donna at least has been known to take her own cook to prepare dinner for her when she was invited out to dine. Mme. Sembrich is not so exacting in her requirements. In one respect she is unyielding—everything She drinks must be warm, even cham- pagne. The other night at a large dinner party she surprised her hostess by asking for a pitcher of hot water. When it was brought to her she pro- ceeded to dilute the champagne in her glass, “to keep,” as she expressed it, “from taking cold.” Her husband, possibly fearing that with such a sen- sitive organization Mme. Sembrich might take cold if he failed to pour hot water in his champagne, followed the same hygienic course. But Tamag- no was the trying one, when it came to dinner parties. Upon one:occasion, the last, indeed, of the kind, he was invited to dine in the sacred and inner- most circles. Some of his fellow sing- ers, including the De Reszkes and Mme. Melba, were also invited. The first thing he did was to open his opera hat and put it on the floor beside his chair. The soup, fish and the earlier courses passed without surprise. But after awhile hothouse grapes, bon- bons and other edibles found their way into his hat. With each relay he would say briefly, “For my daughter.” Finally, when the company arose from the table, his colleagues completely overcome with chagrin, he took the bouquet of the lady who sat next to him, calmly saying, “For my daugh- ter,” and placed that on top of the collection, put his hat under his arm and marched out. Signor Foli some years since took part. in a concert at St. Helen’s; where he sung “The Raft.” He had just finished his first verse when an infant in arms made the hall resound with its cries. Foli commenced the second verse, the first line of which runs “Hark What is that which greets the mother’s ear?” He could get no farther than the end of the line by reason of a fit of uncontrolla- ble laughter. He left the stage, but soon returned, smiling, and sung in his inimitable style, “Out on _ the Deep.”—Denver Times. REBUKE TO A BRIDE During the Honeymoon That Lasted Through Her Life, “Never shall I forget,” said a bride, “the first word of criticism I received from my husband. Everything was moving along beautifully. There. had- n’t been a single cloud over our honey- moon. Then one morning I found Hal standing before my dressing table looking down disgustedly at the comb lying there. ‘What was the matter?’ Here two cheeks blushed like scarlet geraniums. Well, I had it full of combings, a habit, I frankly admit, I had always been guilty of. This time it got me into a jickle. Hal held that comb out at arm’s length, the untidy mat of hair clinging to it, and I will say he tried to make his voice nice and lamb-like, but I saw by the line of his lips and the flash of his eye that he was thoroughly put out. ‘Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘is this your comb?’ just as if he don’t know it was the very comb he had given my last birthday. I meekly answered ‘yes.’ ‘Then,’ he said, ‘I would try to keep it like a lady’s comb.’ With that he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving me sniffly and terribly abused. But it was a wholesome lesson. I never forgot it, and my comb rested in spick and span cleanliness on my dresser ever afterwards. Not that comb. I packed it out of sight, hand- some as it was, that very morning, and couldn’t bear to use it again. But I’ve never been caught napping with its | substitute. Not a single hair is al- lowed to remain in it over time.” This bride’s husband had the courage to correct her for her fault. How many men, though, naturally neat them- selves, have to endure the petty trials of a wife who is careless in just such toilet trifles?—Philadelphia Inquirer. A Sclentific Bequest. An important bequest has been made to the University of France by M. Raphael Bischoffsheim, the banker of Dutch origin who became a naturalized Frenchman nineteen years ago and now sits in parliament for a division of the Alpes Maritimes. He has made over the freehold of the Nice observa- tory, founded by himself, with its branches, instruments, library and lands, to the university, together with a sum of £100,000, to be devoted to the maintenance of the establishment on Mont Gros, so well known to English visitors who patronize Nice or its neighbors in winter. The total value of the Bischoffsheim bequest is: esti- mated at 5,000,000 francs, or £200,000. The Nice observatory has done good work and scientific men are glad to see that its future is assured through the liberality of its founder.—London Tele- graph. as The Byzantine Empire. Byzantine Empire was the Roman Empire of the east. The name was derived from Byzantium, the ancient name of Constantinople, the capital s7 the empire. As a separate power ‘t began its existence in 395 A. D., when Theodosius the Great died, bequeath- ing the Empire of Rome to his two sons, who divided it—Arcadius taking the eastern half, with his capital at Constantinople. It was a rich and powerful sovereignty, and continued to exist for over ten centuries. Dur- ing the last few centuries it was grau- ually but surely declining before the Turks and Saracens, and ended with the Mohammendan conquest of Con- stantinople in 1543. It was also called the Greek Empire, and was the home and head of the Greek church. clerks, farmers, Below Her Expectatt ions. “Claribel, when we are wed your pathway shall be eternally strewn with roses “Pathway? Then you expect me to foot it everywhere, I infer?’—Detroiv Free Press. Wireless Telegraphy Has had a new demonstration of use- fulness by the captain of a lightship, who used it after ordinary signals had failed to notify the shore authorities of danger. In a like manner Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters, the famous indiges- tion and dyspepsia cure, acts when other medicines fail. It regulates the bowels and improves the appetite. Safe Enough, “Sir,” she exclaimed, me!” “Oh, well, never mind,” he replied, reassuringly, “I haye no faith, in that germ theory.”—Philadelphia North American. “you kissed Spring Humors of the Biood Come to a certain percentage of all the people. 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How Happy I Am.” “HOW HAPPY I AM to be able to say that I am free from pain after five years of severe suffering from neu- ralgia,” writes Mrs. Archie Young, 1817 Oaks avenue, West Superior, Wis. “I am so thankful to be able to say that your ‘5 Drops’ is the best medicine I ever got in my life. When I received it from you last November, I used some of it right away. The first dose helped me. It is impossible to explain how I was suffering from neuralgia. I thought no one could get worse and that death would soon come. I was very weak, and I hardly thought I could live to see my husband come back from his daily labor. Now I can say that I am tree from pain, my cheeks are red, my appetite is good and I sleep well all night. Many of my friends are sur- prised, and say they will send for some ‘5 Drops.’” Sample bottles of this wonderful remedy 25c, large bottles, containing 300 doses, $1.00. For in- formation write Swanson Rheumatic Cure Co., 164 E. Lake street, Chicago. Some people spend time making good money and others spend money mak- ing a good time. Are You Using Allen’s Foot-Ease? It is the only cure for Swollen, Smarting, Burning, Sweating Feet, Corns and’ Bunions. Ask for Allen’s Foot-Ease, a powder to be shaken into the shoes. At all Druggists and Shoe Stores, 25c. Sample sent FREE. Ad- dress Allen S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N. Y. “Though time tells on the face of a clock the clock’s face always tells time. GOOD NIGHT! Sweet Soothing Slumber Man’s Greatest Blessing. Nothing Kills so Quickly as Loss of Sleep Rest Needed for Repairs. How to Obtain it Without Fail. ‘When you don’t sleep well, look out for yourself. Nothing breaks down a person so quick- ly as less of sleep, that boon of mankind pence gives the exhausted system rest for re} irs. o time for repairs means destruction eens machinery. It is so with the human ly. You are nervous, have a load on your chest, are troubled with unaccountable anxiety and forebodings of evil, and roll and toss all night. ‘Towards morning you have fitful naps from sheer exhaustion, awake in a cold sweat, unrefreshed, pallid, trembling, with a bad taste in your mouth and a feeling of great weakness. It’s your stomach, your liver, your bow- 3. ‘ Keep your digestive organs all on the move properly and your sleep will be rest- ful and refi and all repairs will be attended to. The way to do it is to use a mild, posi- tive, harmless, vegetable laxative and liver stimulant—Cascarets Candy Ca- They make the liver lively, pre- vent sour stomach, purify the blood, regu- late the bowels perfectly, make all things ht as they should be. buy and try Cascarets to-day. It’s what they do, not what we say they'll do, that will please you. All druggists, 10c, %c, or 50c, or lied for price. Send for booklet and free sample. Address, Ster- ling Remedy icago; Montreal, Can.; or New, York. This is the CASCARET tab- let. Byer, tablet ef the only ¢ genuine Cas ts bears the magic letters cc.” Look N fp at the tablet before you buy, [——Y and beware of frauds, imita- tions and substitutes. - Man is an animal, they say; but it’s only in saloons and prisons that you see them behind bars. HAVE YOU seen the wonderful caloulating pencil? than you can think. Useful to housewives, lumbermen. school it; sample by mail 25 cents. Cirou- ts wanted. American Mfy. Co., Box ehildren. Try lars free. 7, St. Paul, You may think your hope is founded on a rock, but it may be blasted. If you are in doubt about it, don’t do it. , my